This Is My Story: Lori + Vincent

This is so weird. How did I get here? Someone wants to hear a story about my son’s story and his death? But here I am.  Five…can you believe it?  Five years have passed by since Vincent’s death on September 17, 2018.  

Vincent Alfonso Carrozza

Born: November 25, 1994

Vincent was my first baby.  I was so young and barely married a year.  I was convinced that I was eating for two!  I became so heavy - I gained a total of 75 pounds.  He did not take long to come into this world though. I was in labor four hours – 8:30am through 12:26pm. He was heavy - over 9 pounds - and long – 22 inches. Everyone always said he looked like a two-month-old when he was born.  Back in those days we stayed in the hospital for 48 hours.  The nurses had taken Vincent the first night from me and placed him in the nursery for observation.  He was not feeding and did not latch onto me, and he was wheezing.  I thought it was a cute little snore because he was so heavy; but it was not. 

It was Laryngomalacia, a congenital softening of the tissues of the larynx (voice box) above the vocal cords. This was the root cause of many other issues – first, sleep apnea, then gastroesophageal reflux and then hypoglycemia. By 2-months old he had grown a strawberry hemangioma on his eye which was blocking his vision.  This needed surgery to remove it and he had yet to be circumcised.  I used to tell Vincent how he had a professional surgical procedure for his circumcision and didn’t have to be awake to endure that pain. Lastly, Vincent had chesty wall disorder, or pectus excavatum. Bone structure in his chest did not form, so basically he could form a pool of water on his chest.  Luckily and by the grace of God, this did not affect his heart, and the doctors wanted to leave it alone. I had spent many days and nights at the Ronald McDonald House, and it was finally time to come home.

Vincent’s illnesses as an infant, I believe, led to cognitive difficulties. Looking back now I see it was mostly his understanding of things; his ability to learn or focus was exceptional.  I used to say to myself that he had a lot of fixable sicknesses throughout his first six months of life; not realizing that the medication and all the different sedatives, etc., would cause his adulthood to be so difficult. 

After all that chaos within the first year of his life, it all finally started to die down.  I was able to have my baby home and start my journey of motherhood.  Well, by the time Vincent was 13-months old, the marriage of a young 20-something couple took its toll; and by February of 1996, I was separated from his father.  Vincent always had a special bond with his father.  He used to walk around the house calling for dada and banging on the bathroom door for him.  It never ended.  He always was more connected and emotionally vested in his dad.  Our bond, I felt, never happened since he never latched on or had “skin to skin’ contact time after birth.

Vincent’s childhood was great.  I met someone else, and we were together for 10-years - the formative years for him.  Throughout the years we had a full, busy life. We moved to South Carolina in 2005 and even though it was the best decision for me, it was not the best decision for Vincent.  If he missed his dad at 13-months old, it was way worse during his childhood and tween years.  He always had seen his dad and there was travel back and forth; but as we all know, nothing was the same and he never quite got over the distance between him and his father. 

Grade school and middle school were nothing short of challenging.  Vincent found his outlet through Lacrosse.  He had always been a sports kid.  He played all the sports from baseball, basketball, football, etc. but found solace in Lacrosse.  I always encouraged Vincent to become a sportscaster just because of the knowledge he could obtain.  He was engulfed in with the teams, stats, and players, and by high school Vincent was doing okay.  He had a girlfriend for the four years of high school. He was extremely popular and outgoing. He was always smiling and one of Vincent’s favorite things was hugs!  He loved to hug.  I was happy about that thinking back, yet sad thinking about how I will never feel his hug again.

During Vincent’s senior year of high school, his behavior became erratic.  He began having major anger issues. His temper tantrums were off the chart. He had had these in the past but nothing like this.  Six weeks prior to graduation, he signed himself out of school after a disagreement with a teacher.  He was already 18 years old, and I was told that he could legally do that. Who knew? He did wind up graduating; however, just not the way you expect when you start your family and have all these dreams and expectations of life’s biggest moments.  BUT, he had a high school diploma and that is what mattered. 

As I mentioned, Vincent was extremely popular in school, and it was so hard to keep track of him and what he was doing from one moment to the next.  By then, I was a single mom again and had been for a while.  He tried a vocational college for a while, but that did not pan out. 

Even though school wasn’t his thing, he always had a job. Vincent was a hard worker for sure. His best friend Marshall moved to Columbia, South Carolina and offered Vincent a job and a place to stay. During Hurricane Matthew that year, he and Marshall argued, and he was out on the streets.  When speaking with my son, he stated that everything was fine – he was staying at friends’ and couch surfing.  Between all the fights and arguments and struggles, I could not offer him to come back. He needed to make it on his own and find his place in this world. He always worked so it wasn’t a financial issue, right?  This didn’t last until I knew it Vincent was homeless.

I found out later on that Vincent was walking on I-26 to come home back to Simpsonville, SC, and the police arrested him walking down the highway.  This started his woes with the law. He had run-ins prior, and a public defender counselor helped get Vincent a place a stay, counseling, and financial assistance. More than once, he helped Vincent out of some messes.

But things were getting worse. He was just not himself and was showing signs of schizophrenia and depression. Finally, after all the criminal and law proceedings were through, he was allowed to move back home. I was ready again to have my son home and help him through his difficulties in life. He had been homeless for about a year, which I just hate thinking about.  Fortunately, he met a lot of angels that did help him during that time, but he was now home.  Now what?

I was apprehensive and aloof.  All my troubles with my son from his dad, drugs, criminal behavior, homelessness... I didn’t know my son and was still angry about the past and about the decisions he was making for his life.  I did, however, strive to find help for him.

He started therapy and was court ordered to take injections for his schizophrenia. The medication had a lot of side effects. He slept a lot. He was not the sports baby that I knew a few years back. He tried asking a girl on a date and was shot down. Things were not looking up. What happened?  I asked the doctors what else could be done but I was told that Vincent had a condition called schizoaffective disorder bipolar type, a condition in which people experience psychotic symptoms, such as hallucinations or delusions, as well as symptoms of a mood disorder — either bipolar type (episodes of mania and depression).

I had no idea what the heck that was and how to deal with that all by myself!  My immediate family and I were distanced.  When it is the flu or a condition like diabetes, you take medicine. When it is mental, though, it is a guessing game. I have come to find out that there is no magic pill. 

Vincent’s dad believed that it was false and all garbage; nothing the doctors were telling me could be Vincent. But, at home with me, Vincent was talking some crazy out of this world stuff.  He was deathly afraid of thunder and lightning and had delusions. He would say that God had instructed him to ‘scar’ himself with scratches to remove his tattoos as they were evil or that God had told him to light a fire in the street to ward off the evil spirits trying to enter the house.  He would talk about another dimension and how he felt his body was in another world. Just things that I did not know how to deal with or what to say. He cried to me one night.  I had no words, but I do remember sitting with him for about an hour. I look back and just see myself sitting there with no motherly advice or words of encouragement to provide to my son. It was all so foreign to me and in a way, I thought it would just get better in time; but he refused to take medication other than the court ordered injections stating that the medication made him feel like he was in jail and imprisoned. He moved back home in April 2018, and by July 2018 his behavior had worsened and was out of control.  I just did not know what to do.

So, I did nothing……

Yup, absolutely nothing.  I tried to love my child the best I could, but I had other children and still had bills to pay and had to work.  My youngest was starting Anderson University and I was already a grandma watching an infant grandson for my young 21-year-old daughter. Vincent was 23 at this point, and all his doctors told me they could not give me any information because now he was older and considered an adult.  The only resource I had at the time that I knew of was a well-check by the police to see if he was doing okay while I was at work.  Talks with the nurses and friends just led to more despair and frustrations. 

Again, I did nothing…..

Vincent and I always struggled to have a close relationship, but he was finally coming around in his adulthood.  He recognized all my struggles in being a single parent and the sacrifices I had to make. He saw all the love and things that I tried providing throughout my life for my kids. I scrapbook and have over 50+ albums of my children and their childhood memories. He used to go through those books and cry and apologize for the heartache and crap that he gave me throughout his life. He did finally see I was an ok mom...maybe.  I did start to get those hugs and laughs back into my life.  So, again, did nothing.

Long story short, Vincent and I had a disagreement the night before he died.  It wasn’t a blow-out fight, just a disagreement about his job and responsibilities.  Typical mom stuff.  I dropped him off at BP for cigarettes, said I love you, and went off to scrapbook at my friend’s.  He later that night wanted to come to my friend’s house and hang out with us and of course his friends there.  It was late and dark, and I was not going back to pick him up.  His brother just left the house, and Vincent was texting him for a ride which was declined.  He tried texting some other kids about getting a ride to my girlfriend’s house, but no one wanted to take him.  I came home late after midnight and of course did not go into Vincents’ room thinking he did not want any part of me by that point.

The next morning, I woke up for work like usual.  I was going down the stairs leaving for work and looked up and thought I should say goodbye and love you to Vincent in his room behind that closed door.  My next thought was, ‘Nah….let him sleep. I’ll talk to him about last night when I get home from work.’

There was no coming home from work.

I received a call from an unknown number, which I normally do not answer, and found myself answering the call after their third or fourth attempt to contact me.  I remember the conversation thinking, ‘Oh my gosh, who did he shoot and who was hurt?’ not even thinking or believing that Vincent had shot himself.  However, that’s what he did.

He had walked up to the local indoor practice gun range after pawning his laptop.  The owners and employees stated he looked like a normal young man; showing no signs of mental illness or any other condition, other than he was extremely sweaty. They assumed it was because he gave the explanation of walking to the range and having no car. Then off he went to his practice booth. Vincent pointed the gun at his chest and pulled the trigger, from what I understand, after a couple of practice shots at the target.  Then, that was it. 

He was dead and then alive and then had complications from the gunshot wound and dead.  All within six hours from my last thought of going back up those stairs to say goodbye and I love you.

Most of the days and everything following are horrible as you can only imagine.  However, looking back, I honestly and humbly feel that Vincent never would have made it through the Covid-19 pandemic.  The isolation alone would have driven him more insane, damaged him beyond repair, and caused more depression and hallucinations.

As a mother, a woman, a human. I’ve been dealing with the pain of never going back up those stairs and talking to him.  Everyone you encounter will state that you cannot change fate and what God has planned for your life.  That you cannot change the past or have those regrets of the last moments you had prior to his death – the disagreement the night before, not going up those stairs. However, even though you cannot change the past, it’s very hard and difficult to FORGIVE yourself for the wrong doings in life.  Especially, towards your own children.

I struggle to this day and will the rest of my life.  I do not have my son here.  I don’t have the hugs and the difficult moments anymore. I miss that. I will always miss that. I don’t miss the facts that I am not going to have those BIG moments you plan for – marriage, grandkids, career, and seeing him thrive in life.  I just have an empty place in my heart that will never go away. 

I wanted to write this story to let people know how mental illness does not have to be the end of someone’s life.  There are resources out there (now I know) and if you just look and research and take time to learn maybe this won’t happen again and help another depressed or mental incapacitating disease for someone else.  I had to learn the hard way.

I have come to find out that my grandmother and aunt on my mother's side was diagnosed with schizophrenia and that my aunt died from suicide.  I have also come to find out that on Vincent’s fathers’ side, there were two suicides with his brothers, and they struggled with mental illness. I do believe that DNA also plays an important part of mental illness. I do not think there is enough research, knowledge, or advertising for mental illness in the medical field still to date; however, it has gotten better since COVID.

As I get older, I’ve learned to educate myself, turn to faith and hope, and I have to BELIEVE that Vincent’s story will carry on and provide help along with some substance. To never, ever, go without saying I love you before leaving someone you love.  To listen to the Holy Spirit. I do thank GOD every day that the last spoken words I said to him were, ‘I love you” when dropping him off that night. I can’t live in my regrets. I have to go on.

Vincent’s death has made me into a more compassionate and thoughtful person and provide empathy to those in need.  I don’t put off educating myself and am forever grateful for reuniting with my extended family and now having a close relationship.

I ask that you take away Vincent ‘hugs’ and forever be inspired by his story.

Half my heart is in Heaven with you, and I will forever miss you. I love you, Mom.

Lori Carrozza Richardson